Yellowstone National Park: Cooke City to Bridge Bay

Despite a night of poor sleep, Garrett and I woke up early Friday morning to continue on to Yellowstone National Park. The town of Cooke City was quiet as we started moving about. We decided to grab breakfast at The Bistro, a small restaurant facing our motel. The food and service was pleasant enough and prepared us well for the day ahead.

After filling our bellies, gas tank and backpacks, Garrett and I said goodbye to Cooke City. We drove a couple of minutes to the Northeast Entrance, also known as the Silver Gate Entrance, of Yellowstone. At 8:00 in the morning, we were the only car driving through (the park employee at the gate said that this was the quietest entrance of the park--the line of cars never gets beyond 10).

I had reserved a campsite at Bridge Bay Campground about a month before. I chose Bridge Bay primarily because of its location, which is the dead center of the park. It is also facing Yellowstone Lake, and as the unfortunate desert rats we are, Garrett and I always jump at the chance to be near water. The drive from the NE entrance to Bridge Bay took us about 2 - 2 1/2 hours.

Two hours may seem like a lot, especially because there were closer campsites, but it really wasn't. The drive was awesome. To get from the entrance to Bridge Bay, we first drove to Tower-Roosevelt (29 miles), then on to Canyon Village (19 miles), to Fishing Bridge (16 miles), to Bridge Bay (about another 5 miles). The change of landscape along the drive and the amount of wildlife that we saw was, in a word, insane.

I often feel as though I am conditioned to be disappointed when it comes to seeing wildlife--I rarely, if ever, see something cool. So when we saw a bison just minutes within entering the park, I literally did not believe my eyes. I saw it in the distance, thought it looked like a bison, and then decided it had to be a rock. I only realized that it was in fact a bison and not a rock when we drove by.

"Wait a second," I said in disbelief to Garrett, "that was a bison! Ah! I hope we see more!"

Little did I know, we would see hundreds (if not thousands) of bison in our short time in Yellowstone.

We saw bison: grazing in the distance, nursing their young, lying by a pond, standing in the river (such a beautiful sight), crossing the street, causing traffic jams, running up hills, hanging out near the hot springs...you name it, we saw it. It was incredible.

What I couldn't believe, though, was how incoherent people were in terms of getting close to the bison. There are two things that I think need to be followed regarding wild animals: the first is safety, and the second is respect. It was amazing how easily people threw those two rules away just so they could snap a great picture. (Our close-up shots only came from the bison running by our car as they crossed the street and caused traffic jams.)

Other than spotting a gazillion bison on our drive into the park (and everywhere else for that matter), our drive was amazing for all of the different terrain it took us through. We entered the park in a forested area, drove through some prairie lands and through some mountains on the way to Tower-Roosevelt.

 

The area between Tower-Roosevelt and Canyon Village is undergoing road works, so this was the part of our drive that took the longest (you had to wait for a head car to guide you through the pass). A lot of the drive between the two points was along a dirt road nestled up to cliffs.

Between Canyon Village and Fishing Bridge, the landscape changes a ton. You drive through woods, along cliff sides, through a prairie, next to the river, and (my favorite) through sulfur-infused hot springs. The Yellowstone River snakes its way in and out of sight through this pass, too. It baffled me how much the terrain changed, and how drastically, in so little time.

It was awe-inspiring, then, to have Yellowstone Lake come into view as we approached Bridge Bay Campground. The lake is huge, flanked by both flatlands and mountains, and was sitting like a table of glass below a layer of smoke when we drove up on it.

If you're up for a scenic drive heading to the park and through the park, I recommend taking Beartooth Pass (in the daylight!) to Cooke City and the Northeast Entrance, and from there go on to Bridge Bay. The entire park is amazing, I'm sure, but what we saw on our way in will stick with me as some of the most breathtaking sights I've ever seen for the rest of my life.



Yellowstone National Park: Billings to Cooke City

On our recent trip to Montana for the wedding of good friends, Garrett and I decided to spend some time in Yellowstone National Park. We didn't have very much time--we landed in Billings, MT on Thursday evening and had to return for a Saturday evening wedding--but we were determined to make the most of it.

Neither of us quite knew how much driving the trip would entail. Google Maps told us that it'd take about 2.5 hours to get to the Northeast park entrance, but gave us no time estimate beyond that point.

Blissfully naïve, we rented a car and headed out to Cooke City (the border town of the NE entrance) that night. It was our original plan to do the full drive to our Yellowstone campsite, but we decided upon arrival to Montana that we wanted to see the park by day. Had we known better, we would have also wanted to do the drive to Cooke City by day, too. We had no clue that we would be driving through the Beartooth Pass, supposedly one of the most scenic routes in the U.S., and climbing 10,300 feet of elevation.

Beartooth Pass by day. (Obviously not my picture--thanks, Wikipedia!)

As we gained elevation, the switchbacks became more plentiful and intense. Though heralded to be beautiful, I'm not sure if I would have rather done the drive in the daylight opposed to in the dark--was it better to not quite know what we were driving on top of? Was it better to not be able to see over the cliff that we were so carefully navigating?

Luckily, the steep incline and sharp turns didn't bother Garrett. He took both in stride, gracefully and expertly, as I shut my eyes, gripped the door handle, and prayed on repeat.

After about an hour of "please don't let us die, please don't let us fall over the cliff, please don't let us die," we arrived in Cooke City around 10:00pm. Cooke City is no city, mind you, but a stretch of buildings along a main road. In the late hour of our arrival, the town was dead.

Garrett and I trekked from hotel to motel, searching for a room to stay the night. Because our original plan had been to pitch a tent and camp, we hadn't booked anything in advance. All hopes of camping took flight, though, as we saw sign upon sign claiming "DANGER! BEARS!". So there we were, all alone in a quiet town, poking our heads in windows and walking into empty lit-up lobbies. We joked that had I been pregnant, our night would have resembled Joseph and Mary's.

As we gave up hopes of a bed and decided to sleep in our car, I spotted a few men walking into a bar across the street. The bar just so happened to be next to a motel that, though closed, had a vacancy sign.

I looked at Garrett.

"Maybe the bartender owns the motel?" I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Good idea," he agreed, "and if he doesn't, at least I'll get a beer."

Much to our luck, the bartender did own the motel. Yipee! We totally got ripped off (paid the same price for that dingy motel as the Plaza in Billings), but were beyond the point of caring. In no great rush to retire to our humble accommodations, Garrett and I grabbed stools at the counter and ordered the only thing they had on tap...good old PBR.

After a couple of beers, the bartender Rick warmed to us. He inquired what we were doing in Cooke City and after learning that we were departing to Yellowstone in the morning, pulled out a flashlight and a yellowed old map of the park. He showed us good fishing spots, certain drives we had to take, where we would be stopped for road work, etc. etc. And then he bought us shots. It was pretty awesome.

This was a piano in the bar...pretty sweet, eh?

I retired to bed shortly after, but Garrett decided to stay out and drink with Rick. When Rick spotted Garrett re-entering the bar after he walked me to our room, he yelled, "Hell yeah! Droppin' off the wife and comin' back to party!" And then he proceeded to buy Garrett more shots.

After downing more drinks courtesy of Rick, Garrett got to meet some of the locals. His favorite (and mine too after hearing the story) was a man named Kale.

Kale, with eyes red from drink or something else, sat down heavily on the barstool next to Garrett. He introduced himself by saying, 

"Hi. I'm Kale. Like the salad. What's your name?"

In the 30 minutes or so that Garrett spent with Kale, he reintroduced himself, complete with the salad definition, three times. He also asked Garrett to repeat his name on each occasion. Their time together ended with Kale slurring to Garrett,

"What's your name?"

"Garrett, what's yours? Kip?" Garrett teased.

"Hi Kip, I'm Kale," he leaned in real close and said quietly, "like the salad."

And that's where Garrett called it a night.

Lying in our motel room, Garrett and I recalled that hours before, we were just two out-of-staters that had been lost in the night, searching for a bed and hot shower. Now, slightly restless on a stiff mattress, we felt comforted by the roof above our heads, the "charm" of the locals, and the warmth in our bellies from the bestowments of bartender Rick.


Cooke City, you showed us a good time. Maybe, just maybe, we'll meet again.

Kiawah Island, SC

On our last day on Kiawah Island, Garrett humored me by joining in on a bicycle ride. I always love exploring via bike, even though traffic and bumps and declining hills tend to fill me with anxiety.

I'm so glad that we took the chance to ride our bikes through the island, though, because it's one of my favorite memories from the trip. We rode past golf courses, through marshes, over bridges, and in the forest. Everything was so green, so lush, that we felt like we were somewhere tropical. Oh, and it rained the whole time, too.

For whatever reason, the rain didn't bother us. Well, it bothered Garrett for a moment, as he was worried about ruining his Allen Edmonds. After slipping them off and into his backpack, all was well again.

Garrett and I stopped in a dry spot as the rain started to come down particularly hard. For a moment, the world was quiet. The cicadas stopped singing and traffic ceased. The only noise to be heard was the hush of the torrential downpour as it fell with all of its fury.

Once the downpour lightened a bit, we rode on. It was a warm, humid day, and the rain provided relief as the cool drops fell onto our sunburned skin. To me, there are few prettier things than rain falling in sunlight. The air shined gold as the drops fell like tiny golden needles to the ground, scattering and dispersing light as they hit.

When we returned to the condo, out of breath and wet from the rain, we discovered that it hadn't rained there at all. Shivering from the cool of the air conditioning, we changed into dry clothes and sank into the couches to rest.


About an hour later, Garrett asked me if I wanted to take another bike ride, this time down the beach. I readily said yes. We changed into bathing suits and hopped on the bikes once more.

This time, it wasn't raining, but it was equally as beautiful. The sun was setting and everything around us was covered in a dusting of blue-gold light. We were being cheesy and singing off-key to a hodge-podge of songs, happy to be near the ocean and playing outside once more (something you can't do in the heat of a Phoenix summer).

We rode our bikes until the terrain allowed us to ride no more, after about 3 miles. The ocean, which had flanked us on our left side, turned in and stopped us from riding further. There was a small boat filled with passengers drifting in the tiny cove and three other people standing on the banks. Everyone was quiet.

Neither of us doubted why the others were there, it was so beautiful. Garrett and I hopped off of our bikes and grabbed some water. We both nodded out to a grouping of Great Blue Herons, swooping in and standing together. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two dolphins rising about a foot off of the bank to catch air.

"OH!" I yelled, covering my mouth quickly as though I had scared the dolphins away. "Garrett," I whispered harshly, "look! Dolphins!"

We trekked through small puddles and parked ourselves  as close as possible to the water's edge. After a moment, one of the dolphins rose again.

We stood there, trying to stretch our vision over the entire cove to see where the dolphins might rise next, for a long, long time. Everything was silent, not a person spoke. Even the boat, trolling after the dolphins, made no noise. The only sound that filled the air was the gentle rushing of the water and the intermittent puffs of breath from the surfacing dolphins.

The sky was still a golden blue, reflecting doubly in the iridescent glint of the ocean. The water sparkled gold as the dark, navy blue backs of the dolphins broke its surface. Each time they rose I  felt as though I was experiencing one of the most beautiful sights in the world. My cheeks ached from smiling and my chest tired from the constant strain of excitement, but I didn't care. Standing there, holding my husband's hand and witnessing one of the finest gifts nature has ever offered, I was in pure bliss.

That bliss dropped slightly as a loud boom of thunder clapped our ears. I kept my eyes straight ahead, searching for the dolphins. Garrett looked to the right and saw the storm rolling in. The soft lighting changed, ever so slightly, as black clouds began to take over the sky.

 "Aud, we have to go," Garrett said, "I just saw lightning."

I didn't want to leave. I didn't care about the storm. I could have stayed there on that quiet beach forever. Garrett, however, could not.

With a sigh and slight slumping of my shoulders, I acquiesced. We hopped on our bicycles and peddled off, away from the water's edge. Garrett was of course moving faster than I was, and I took a chance in diagonally drifting back to the water. My timing was perfect, because three dolphins rose right then, right there.

"Garrett!" I called, laying my bike on the ground. "Come back! Look! They just rose right here!"

Sensing my childlike excitement, he rode back to join me. We waited another five minutes, and saw the dolphins break surface once more on their way out to the ocean.

"Ok," Garrett admonished, "we have to go now." As if to back his urgency, the thunder clapped again.

 I said a mental goodbye to the dolphins, the herons, and the peace of that tiny cove.

We rode toward home in a hurry, Garrett ahead of me and circling back to give me encouragement. My legs were tired. My knees were achy. I was sore, but more importantly, completely happy. The black sky washing in with every boom of thunder and flash of lightning didn't bother me. For Garrett, though, I tried to ride faster. It was maybe the longest three miles of my life.

Fat drops of rain started to fall just as our condo came into view. Knowing that I was close to being done,  I gave one final push. We approached the boardwalk, hopped off as the sand got thick, and pushed our bikes home in the rain.


I will remember this day and keep it close to my heart forever. If I close my eyes, I can still see the rain falling in the sunlight. I can feel the grind of the sand beneath my bicycle wheels. I can taste the salt of the air. I can hear the puff of the dolphins' breath. And, above all, I'll remember holding my husband's hand in wonderment through it all.

Charleston, SC

I'm in love with Charleston, South Carolina, and I don't care who knows it!

On our recent trip to S.C., we got to spend a day in one of my favorite cities of all time: Charleston.

We started the day off at the Farmers Market in Marion Square, on King and Calhoun Streets. It was probably the largest farmers market I've ever been to, and it offered so much! We grabbed our breakfast here--Garrett and I got empanadas and coffee, others got huevos rancheros, omelets, grits, and green smoothies. Everything was delicious. After eating and strolling through the market some more, we grabbed some fresh veggies to cook for dinner and headed out to explore the rest of the city.

From the farmers market, we headed down King Street, which I took to be the main shopping strip. It was pretty, but not the part of the city I was interested in. Garrett and I separated from the group and found a small coffee shop, which has become one of our new favorite vacation to-do's. We fell in love with City Lights Coffee as soon as we stepped through the door.  A small, quaint, and colorful environment flowing with blues music--who wouldn't love this place? His espresso and my smoothie didn't disappoint, either.

After finishing our drinks, Garrett and I met up again with the group. Everyone was tiring and ready to move on to the beach house, but I still felt that we hadn't seen the best part of the city: the residential area. I was ready to comply and head out with the group, but Garrett swooped in and saved the day. He knew that I wanted to stroll through the neighborhoods because I had talked about it so much before arriving, so he was wonderful in making sure we got the chance.

We continued down King Street in the direction of the water, and soon the shops died down and beautiful old homes took over. The residents of historical Charleston take such pride in their homes, as they should. No two homes were the same, which was especially nice to see in this day and age of cookie-cutter neighborhoods. So many of them had wrap-around porches, which I die for. What I loved most were all of their gardens--almost every residence had an alleyway leading into the front entrance of their home that was lush with greens and flowers and light. If I could come home to such beauty every day, why, I'd just have to be the happiest person in the world.

If you follow King Street all the way down, you end up at a park facing the water. Garrett and I smiled at each other when we saw the ocean--just a few weeks ago, we had our toes in the Pacific Ocean. We acknowledged our luck to now arriving at the Atlantic Ocean. 

The homes flanking the waterfront are, of course, unbelievably huge and gorgeous. I couldn't decide which way to look--stare at the pretty houses, or look out across the bay to Fort Sumter? We stayed by the water long enough to have time for both.

After getting an adequate fill of the ocean view--we got to see a sailboat race, too--we rambled back into the neighborhoods. We strolled down Market and Church Streets, and took lots and lots more pictures.

This city is a dream for anybody who appreciates beauty and loves history. I feel as though I could spend a whole week getting lost in all of the neighborhoods and enjoy every minute of it. If you have the chance to visit Charleston, go. And take every chance you can to wander off of the beaten path.

DIY Travel Map: A Fun Way to Keep Track of Your Travels


I think that an integral part of building a new household and family is developing your own traditions. Making my own traditions with Garrett and my other family members as an adult is something that I'm really looking forward to as we get older.

If I recall correctly, Garrett and I have had one on-going tradition thus far: I get him a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream every year on his birthday. This started our freshman year of college (God knows how I got my 18-year-old hands on a bottle of Bailey's); we hadn't been dating that long and I was unsure of what to get him. I'm not sure how I settled on the creamy whisky liqueur (there were other small gifts, too), but it stuck. Seven years later, he still receives an annual bestowment of Bailey's come his birthday.

I wanted to develop a better, more sentimental tradition with my husband than giving him a bottle of booze every year. So, from adapting the ideas of others, I decided that we should make a Travel Map.

Our Travel Map is exactly what it sounds like: a world map upon which we mark our travel. Garrett came home with a framed map from a garage sale some time ago and it's been hanging in our dining room ever since. It's a good map, but obviously not the most expensive one, and though it's framed, it isn't glassed-in...a.k.a. PERFECT for a DIY project!

Last night, on the eve of our 1st anniversary, Garrett and I marked all of the places that we had traveled to in our first year of marriage. We decided to use pins (stickers, sharpies, thumbtacks, etc. would work the same) to mark our destinations. It was a little hard to not mark everywhere we'd been in the past almost 7 years of being together, but we opted out on that because this will be one of our new marriage traditions. We used pink pinheads to mark this year's travel (Garrett marked the few destinations he'd been without me with green), and will use a different color for every year of our marriage. I can't wait for the pins on this map to multiply!

 

As you can see, Garrett and I were pretty lucky in our travels this past year. We started with our wedding in Newport, Rhode Island and from there traveled on to Bozeman, Montana, San Francisco and Half Moon Bay, California, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, back to San Francisco, California, then to Ambergris Caye, Belize, and, finally, to Los Angeles, California. We've also taken advantage of in-state trips to Tucson, Sedona, and Flagstaff. Garrett and I clearly love to travel and I'm glad that we will have this mapping tradition in years to come to reflect on all of the places we've been and how blessed we really are.

See pictures from our year one destinations below!

The start of it all...pictured outside of Ochre Court in Newport, RI on our wedding day.

Garrett fishing off the banks of the Yellowstone River in Montana.

The two of us in front of Half Moon Bay, photographed outside of the Ritz Carlton.

Picture taken at a friend's Christmas party in Michigan.

En route to Ambergris Caye, Belize by way of water taxi from San Pedro.

At a brewery in Pasadena, California.